


Till Death Do Us Part

by Wind_Ryder



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Annulment, Divorce, M/M, Marriage, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inception Kink Meme Round 12: </p><p>Eames and Arthur were married under their real names for a con, several years ago. No big deal, easily annulled at the time; or so Arthur thought. But when Eames wants to marry his latest girlfriend, he discovers that the annulment never went through, and he and Arthur will have to divorce before he can marry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I've changed a few aspects of the prompt in order to help it run more smoothly. Please let me know what you think!

**Till Death Do Us Part**

There are a few jobs that Arthur wished he’d never been on. Most of them involved some form of physical pain and suffering as a result of bad Intel or flawed service. More than once Arthur had been on the receiving end of a furious client’s ire. Generally it hadn’t even been his fault, but he was the pointman. It was his job to take responsibility for the team’s actions. So he had had trouble, though not as much as some of his colleagues. He was proud of that, at the very least.

 

The worst job Arthur had ever had wasn’t necessarily the most perilous – that had been Cobb’s fault when he’d lied to them all about Fischer’s Inception. He still refused to work with Cobb and Yusuf on principle. No, the worst job Arthur had ever had was a fast paced conglomerate that had been damned from the get-go. He’d only made it out alive due to extraordinarily good timing and a relatively crowded subway system. He’d managed to get lost in the masses, and had spent months evaporating in the wind. Every so often the hair at the back of his neck would rise as if to warn him away from some danger coming for him. Paranoia drove him forwards, and he spent most of his time avoiding anything that had to do with that job.

 

But just because he wished it hadn’t happened, didn’t mean that he wanted to forget that those jobs took place. There was always a moral, always new insight that shaped his decisions in the future. They were useful, if nothing else. He rarely spoke about those jobs, preferring to keep the insight to himself and not share it with the masses.

 

Of course, one of those jobs he never spoke about: involved a forger he often argued with. Eames was a relatively charming man who had a unique gift in Dreamsharing. In short: he was extremely valuable, and very expensive. (When called that, Eames would always laugh and tell Arthur to stop describing him like a prostitute, to which Arthur always amended and called him a high-class-escort instead.)

 

They worked well together, mainly because Eames could create the most ridiculous ideas about how to proceed, and Arthur was able to draw some sense out of those imaginations and construct a practical plan. They fought almost exclusively, but Arthur was absurdly taken aback whenever someone else tried to argue with Eames in the same fashion.

 

But of all the jobs that Arthur and Eames had with one another, there was only one that Arthur never told to others. Even Eames seemed to respect that and didn’t boast too often about it. And of all the jobs that Arthur wished never came back out into the light, this particular one was the one that had Eames standing at his doorstep at four-thirty in the morning looking like he was about to pass out from desperation.

 

It was raining horrifically outside, and Arthur stared at Eames for all of three seconds before he pulled back the door and let him hurry in the house. Locking the door behind him, Arthur unconsciously reached for Eames’ jacket and went for a towel in the bathroom. “What are you doing here?” He asked, trying to work out everything.

 

“I’m asking Lizzie to marry me.” Eames announced, and Arthur paused for a moment to think back on the gorgeous blonde thing that Eames had been spending the majority of his time with lately.

 

She was petite, bubbly, excited, and woefully ignorant to all things regarding Dreamsharing. Arthur wasn’t sure what Eames told her, exactly, but he told her something that she believed. It was doomed to fail, in Arthur’s opinion, but he didn’t care.

 

The first he heard of Lizzie was on the Fischer job. Ariadne had spoken to Eames about if he had someone special in his life, and Eames had happily told her all about his new beau. Arthur had avoided the conversation as best he possibly could, not wanting to speak to Eames about the girl or have any part in it. But Eames finally caught him alone one day and said: “She makes me happy Arthur, real happy,” and Arthur had been too much of a coward to say anything other than: “I’m glad, Eames, you deserve someone who makes you happy.”

 

That had been almost a year ago, and now Eames was here, talking to him about marriage, and Arthur could only blink at him. “Okay.” He said, mind buzzing uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure what Eames meant by telling him any of this, but Eames began pacing frantically about the flat.

 

“I went to check on everything, to make sure it was all right…and do you know what I found?” Eames whipped around violently and Arthur flinched unconsciously. He didn’t get startled easily, but there were only a few people in the world that had proven unpredictable enough and talented enough to cause enough damage to him if they put their mind to it. Eames was one of those individuals.

 

“What did you find?” Arthur placated carefully, a tiny concern rising in the back of his head. The only rationale for this conversation to even be taking place to begin with.

 

“The annulment never went through.” Eames told him firmly. Arthur blinked.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Our annulment. It _never went through_.” He hissed back almost frantically. Arthur wasn’t quite sure what to say about that, and he tried to wrack his brains for any reason of why it _wouldn’t_ have gone through.

 

They’d gotten a civil-partnership as part of a con. One of Eames’ fantastic ideas that exploded in a way Arthur hadn’t been able to predict. For nearly two years Eames had worked tirelessly to get into an organization long enough to find the information he needed. He’d begged Arthur to “marry” him in order to help sell his cover. Arthur hadn’t needed to be anything but convenient. Eames had promised him endless amounts of money, so long as he occasionally did his part to sell himself as Eames’ partner. He agreed, and they got the paperwork filled out.

 

After the con had ended, Eames had said they’d gotten the paperwork filled accordingly, Arthur had signed his name, and that had been the end of it. Supposedly. Apparently not.

 

Eames was now pacing with enough vigor that Arthur feared for the structure of his floorboards. He wasn’t sure what to say exactly to help him calm down, and he looked awkwardly around the house for answers. Unfortunately, this was the wrong house for answers.

 

This was his home in Scotland, and as far as he knew – Eames’ name was still on the deed. They’d purchased this house as “newly weds” to sell their cover, and afterwards, Arthur had used it as a safe-house whenever he needed a place to go to just get away from the world. His insomnia had been acting up for weeks now, and Scotland was one of the few places he could usually get some semblance of rest. Irony hit Arthur hard and fast, and he bit his lip.

 

“Do you have the proper paperwork?” Arthur asked, surprised by how calm his voice was. Eames whipped around to look at him. “Don’t look so surprised, if you came all the way out here just to yell at me then you’re sadly mistaken. I’m too tired to fight with you or point fingers. So tell me you’ve brought paperwork for me to sign, or leave to go get it. Either way, I’m not catering to you right now.”

 

Eames blinked once, twice, and then seemed to finally truly look at him. He ran his eyes over Arthur’s body and saw what Arthur knew he would see. He’d lost weight, his hair was longer than it usually was, his hoodie hung off him limply, and even his sleep pants were hanging low on his hips. He had dark circles under his eyes and he hadn’t bothered washing in a few days. His clothes even looked tattered around the edges. It was Scotland though…Arthur hadn’t thought it mattered what he wore when he was in Scotland.

 

“You look terrible, darling.” Eames said, dropping his voice immediately. No more pacing, no more frantic movements. He even looked slightly chagrined.

 

“Noted. Paperwork?” Arthur asked wearily.

 

“Have you slept at all lately?”

 

“Not particularly. Eames, focus. What do I need to sign?” Chastised again, Eames sighed.

 

“Nothing at present. We don’t qualify for an annulment any longer; it’s been too long. It’ll have to be a proper divorce now.”

 

“I see.”

 

“It had to be within three years of the union, and…well…it’s been six since then.”

 

“Right.” Arthur ran a tired hand over his eyes. “Where’s Lizzie?”

 

“On a dig in Africa, she’s busy for the next few months. I need to get this settled.”

 

“Of course.” Arthur turned and started to walk towards the kitchen. “Tea?” He asked, though he didn’t really expect an answer. Eames was following him quietly. Arthur wondered if it hit Eames yet that this was the first time they’d been in this house together since they’d worked that con together. He wondered why that very thought only made him feel more weary, and more disgusted than anything else. 

* * *

 

Arthur looked sick. Eames stared at him while he was making the tea, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He just stared at him, concerned, trying to find words. Everything kept getting caught in his throat. He looked around the house, and smiled faintly at the whitewashed walls. It was an old house, and everything was creaky and brittle, yet there was a charm in it that Eames had always liked.

 

Lizzie was fonder of modern styles, and she didn’t care much for this type of architecture. Still, Arthur was enamored by the house, and Eames had felt perfectly at ease letting him continue use it even after their sham marriage “ended.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It’d been far too long since he’d even engaged in a conversation with Arthur let alone been in this house with him. Lizzie had taken up a lot of his free time, and Eames regretted that he’d let his one solid friendship start to drift away because of it.

 

He should have known Arthur was unwell…

 

“What’s wrong?” Eames asked, struggling to rectify the problem now. Arthur didn’t respond right away, keeping his back to him and leaning against the counter instead. Eames moved closer and pressed a hand to a too bony shoulder. “Darling?” He asked carefully.

 

“Father Anthony died last month.” He murmured quietly, and Eames winced. Forever an atheist, Arthur at least had a healthy respect for people who had faith, none more so than the dedicated priest who had helped raise him as a child. Orphaned young, Arthur never found a home he fit in to. He was left behind at an orphanage to spend the rest of his youth under the Father’s watchful eye. It was as close to a parent Arthur had ever gotten, and he’d been close to the man. Almost all of Arthur’s extra income went to supporting his orphanage – sizeable donations considering Arthur’s average paycheck.

 

Eames had met the Father only once, but he’d liked the man. He’d liked how Arthur didn’t seem to be naturally tense around him, how he laughed and teased with unreserved vigor. Father Anthony was one of the few people Arthur let touch him uninvited. He was a treasured part of Arthur’s childhood, one of the few people who meant something to him.

 

“I’m sorry…I didn’t know.” Eames squeezed Arthur’s shoulder, but the younger man still didn’t turn around.

 

“Neither did I.” Arthur replied. “I was on a job. I didn’t get the message until Monday,” it was Friday. “The funeral was weeks ago.” Perhaps most infuriating of all was the tone of voice he said it in: perfectly flat and neutral with no sign of emotional attachment. Eames grit his teeth.

 

“Arthur, look at me.” He pleaded, giving his shoulder another tug. Conceding defeat, the younger man finally turned. He looked up at Eames with a blank expression. “There’s nothing you could have done.” He said gently. “Father Anthony wouldn’t want you to-”

 

“Spare me your useless platitudes, Eames.” Arthur cut in, eyes narrowing sharply. “Quite frankly, they couldn’t mean less to me at this moment. I’m fully aware I’m a mess, that I’m grieving in a ridiculous fashion, and that I should get over it. Come Monday I’ll have gotten some rest and begun to prepare for my next job. I only told you since you felt the need to ask, but you’re hardly in a position to offer your shoulder for comfort. Just go and get me whatever paperwork you want me to sign and any sense of pathetic entitlement you feel you deserve in regards to my personal life will be signed away with our sham of a marriage.” Taken aback, Eames lowered his hand. He clenched his fists at his sides and took a long breath in.

 

“You really are a heartless bastard aren’t you?” Eames asked, sneering slightly as he turned to walk back out the door. “I’ll go get you your precious paperwork since you want it so badly.” He snapped. Marching towards the front entrance, he pointedly ignored the sound of a glass smashing against the wall even as he trudged back into the storm and towards his car.

 

He stared up at the house for a long while, glaring at it furiously and wishing he hadn’t even come here to begin with. He thought perhaps this whole thing could have been dealt with civilly, but his own anger and frustration at their sham marriage still exiting had colored his entrance a bit more than he would have liked.

 

True, Arthur had his own issues to deal with at the moment, and hearing about Father Anthony’s death had certainly been a blow he hadn’t expected. Still, he hadn’t imagined that he’d lose his temper as easily as he had. He closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest. His hands whacked the wheel hard and he cursed.

 

This was just Arthur being Arthur. He knew Arthur better than anyone else, and he’d spent enough time with him to know – when Arthur was upset he took things out on people with vicious accuracy. He never raised his voice, never shouted, never really made it clear that he was hurting. He was precise and accurate.

 

Cursing again, Eames stepped back into the rain and marched towards the door. He pushed it open without knocking, and crept back to the kitchen.

 

The floor was covered in shattered porcelain and glass. Arthur sat beside the counter, huddled up against it with his knees pulled up to his chest and his head tucked down into them.

 

“Darling?” Eames asked softly, quietly moving across the floor to crouch beside him. Arthur’s head snapped up and he made an aborted effort to move, but Eames stopped him. He kept him still. “Are you hurt?” He asked slowly.

 

“Of course not.” Arthur snapped back, voice temperate even though his eyes were moist and his face was flushed. Eames hummed in response. “Got the paperwork that quickly?”

 

“Of course not.” Eames replied, keeping his voice soft. “What did the dishware do to upset you so?” He asked, smiling just a bit.

 

Arthur blinked at the question, and looked over to stare at the awful mess around them. He didn’t say anything for a long while, and Eames sighed. Standing slowly, he pulled Arthur up with him and directed him towards their old bedroom. He wasn’t surprised to see that Arthur still used it, that he hadn’t moved to a different room in the house.

 

Eames smiled faintly when he realized nothing had changed, from the pictures on the wall to the mess on the bureau. It was like a picture captured in time. Eames moved Arthur to sit on the bed before double-checking that his hands and feet were clear of cuts from the glassware. He seemed fine, aside from the fact he was deathly silent all of a sudden.

 

When Eames glanced over to look up at him, he almost sighed. Arthur’s eyes were snapping back to forth in a fast and repetitious movement. He was sleeping, and barely aware of it. Letting out a low breath of air, he gently pushed Arthur back to lay down on the bed. Pulling a blanket over his shoulders, he tucked his _husband_ in for what he was certain was going to be the last time.

 

Then, because there was nowhere else to go, he kicked off his shoes and slipped under the covers. He’d work out the mess they were in in the morning. For now…at least Arthur was finally getting the sleep he so desperately deserved.


	2. Chapter 2

 

_Arthur stared at the ring for a long while, looking progressively more perplexed as more time passed. Eames had barely kept a straight face during the proposal, and now looked slightly manic as he snatched up Arthur’s left hand and forced the ring on his finger. Arthur didn’t even seem to have the consciousness in him to pull back._

_“Shall I take your silence as a yes, darling?” Eames asked with a too-pleased smile._

_“I…don’t understand.” Arthur said finally. They’d been working on honesty. Arthur had had a habit of lying and trying to avoid situations by handling things on his own. Eames fought with him endlessly to get him to finally agree to verbally state when he had a problem. It was a rare moment when Arthur was so flabbergasted, however, that he had to finally admit that he didn’t understand something. Eames took it as a sign of progress, though, that Arthur’s right hand didn’t clench spasmodically on air…clenching for a leash that wasn’t there anymore._

_“Well, I’m asking you to marry me, Arthur.” Eames announced pleasantly._

_“I don’t…what…_ is that platinum _?” Now Arthur was staring at the ring with open fascination, and Eames laughed absurdly at the look of pure confusion that was stained on Arthur’s face._

_“It’s the testament of my love for you, dearest.” Now Arthur recoiled, blood draining from his face. He looked slightly nauseated, and Eames was barely controlling his mirth._

_“You-you love me?”_

_“Of course, darling, didn’t you know?” Eames asked, batting his eyes. It was almost sad, how in the end Arthur had just stared at him with open amazement and shook his head._

_“No…I…didn’t…” And then he was staring at his hand again, and Eames wondered what was passing through his head. He opened his mouth to put an end to the joke and to explain the con right then and there, now that he’d had his laugh, when Arthur quietly murmured: “I’ll make a terrible husband…”_

_“You’ll be perfect, Arthur.” Eames said, struggling to figure out how this ending up being so serious. He’d thought that Arthur was going to punch him when he first went down on his knee. But Arthur had taken the proposal seriously, and was standing there looking ridiculously self-conscious. “Just wait until you see the house.”_

_“House?” Arthur never looked more insecure in the world. So Eames took him by the hand, and brought him to Scotland._

* * *

_Eames eventually did tell Arthur the truth. It took a while to work up the courage, especially when Arthur kept twisting that ring around his finger looking massively uncomfortable and uncertain. They were standing in Eames’ house, and Arthur looked like the floor is about to swallow him whole._

_Then, Eames sat him down and explained the con. Arthur didn’t ever gain a relieved expression as time went on. In fact, he looked progressively more green. Only once did he completely avoid eye contact. He stared at the ground for a long while before nodding his head and agreeing to help Eames with this farce. He said it so quietly that Eames barely heard him._

_But frankly, he needed Arthur’s help with this one. He needed the cover story to help him meld into a web of masterminds that would be looking for chinks in his armor, and he needed someone he could trust at his back at all times. Arthur was the only person he could trust to be in that position. This was necessary, and so they made arrangements, and made it official._

_In the beginning, Arthur just looked confused. He jumped frequently at the idea that someone else was around him constantly, and he didn’t quite seem to understand what Eames was doing half the time, but eventually he adapted and life fell into a strange bit of normalcy that Eames was rather fond of._

_Arthur cooked exceptionally well; Eames did chores as a habit. They created a balance between themselves, and the con flowed perfectly. Eames found himself almost enjoying the job. When he wasn’t sneaking into covert organizations, he was in a cozy house in Scotland feeling like the cat’s meow._

_They fought constantly, that didn’t change suddenly because they were married. In fact, they fought more often than Eames remembered them fighting, but they also made up faster. Arthur capitulated more, and Eames reorganized priorities appropriately. It worked…for what it was._

_Arthur spoke to Eames about his past, about what life was like prior to joining the military. Eames spoke about things he enjoyed, past times he took place in, games he liked to play. They had a poker night every other Wednesday, and Eames laughed at how talented Arthur was at it._

_Eames found that he learned more about Arthur in those two years than the near decade of working with him prior. It solidified his friendship, certainly, and Eames knew he would never trust anyone as much as he trusted Arthur._

_So when the con came up to end, he expected they could go out to drinks to celebrate and it would all be over. A joke that they shared that they could laugh about. It’s not like it was ever serious._

_Arthur blinked at him when he presented the annulment papers. He’d done it with the same flourish and words he’d used when he’d presented that platinum ring that Arthur still diligently wore. He’d thought it’d be a lark, a joke. Once again, it seemed to have fallen flat._

_Arthur stared at him with the same confused look he’d had when he’d received his proposal. “I…don’t understand.” He said, repeating the words he’d said then. Eames laughed and pulled out a pen._

_“Con’s over, darling. I got the intel I needed – everything. We’re finished, so there’s no need to continue this farce.” Eames placed the papers on the kitchen table and signed them with a flourish. Then he handed Arthur the pen as well. “Go along then.” He encouraged cheerily. Arthur blinked down at the lines, and didn’t move for a long while. Even after two years of married life, Eames couldn’t read whatever was going on in his face._

_For one moment, Eames wondered what would happen if Arthur didn’t sign. He wondered what would happen if Arthur just plowed forwards and insisted that they were still married. That, heaven forbid, he loved him and didn’t want him to go. That this wasn’t a lie. For a moment, Eames let that fantasy run wild._

_But then Arthur lowered the pen to the page, signed his name neatly, and returned the pen to Eames’ waiting palm. “Right then.” Eames said, feeling shaken all of a sudden. Shrugging it off, he folded the pages and placed them in a large envelope. “All settled, I’ll send this to post. Drinks mate?”_

_“No thank you.” Arthur replied quietly. “I don’t feel up to it tonight.”_

_“Right, well I have a plane to catch in the morning. When’ll you be clearing out?”_

_“Clearing out?” Arthur repeated the words dully, twisting to meet Eames’ gaze._

_“Of the house? I mean, you can stay if you want, but it’s a bit old-fashioned don’t you think? Not really either of our style? Worked well when we were on the con, but really…?” Arthur blinked._

_“I like it.” He said softly._

_“Well you’re welcome to it if you want. Anyway…thanks Arthur.” He reached for his jacket and pulled it on quickly. Then, as an afterthought, he tossed an envelope filled with the payout from the job into Arthur’s hands._

_“I appreciate it.” He said, grinning the whole while. Arthur didn’t say goodbye, but he did stand at the door and watch as Eames drove away._

_The next time they saw each other, Cobb had picked Eames up for the Fischer job, and was it just Eames’ opinion…or was Arthur particularly prickly with him?_

* * *

When Eames woke, Arthur had already left the bedroom. He shook the dream from his mind and he struggled to focus on the here and now. Sitting up, he listened for the sounds of movement in the kitchen, and then he carefully slid out of bed. It had been a long time since he’d dreamed about anything, let alone some memory of the past. He didn’t doubt that it had come from being here…because of the events that had transpired over the past few days. Still, it was enough to have him rub a hand over his pokerchip to steady himself.

 

By the time he had entered the kitchen, the glassware on the floor had already been picked up and binned. Arthur was standing at the stove, cooking something that smelled heavenly. There were two plates on the counter beside him – clearly some had survived his rampage the night before. Eames stepped on a creaking board as he approached and he scowled at it.

 

Arthur’s back stiffened for a moment, before it relaxed and he returned to the pans he was working on. “Sorry about last night.” He murmured preemptively, keeping Eames from saying anything he’d been thinking of. “I…hadn’t slept since I heard the news…I wasn’t myself.”

 

“I understand.” Eames replied, and he did. He understood better than most other people could possibly fathom. Strokes of insomnia were common in Dreamsharers, especially after a loss. In the two years they lived together, Eames had seen Arthur struggle with insomnia before. Arthur had stayed awake for nearly a full week once, and by that point he’d been hallucinating and near seizing. Eames had held him, desperately massaging his shoulders and his murmuring to him in an attempt to ease him into sleep.

 

He was embarrassed it took him so long the night before to realize the signs of Arthur on a spell. It shouldn’t have taken him that long. Some friend he turned out to be. Taking a step closer, he paused only when Arthur tensed again. “When’d you get up?” He tried, not sure where he was going with this.

 

“Just an hour ago.” Arthur replied. Considering the light outside, that wasn’t too bad, but he still would need some more rest sometime soon.

 

“What are you making?” Eames asked, inching just a little closer. “Smells good.” Peering over Arthur’s shoulders he nearly collapsed in adoration. A full English breakfast awaited him and he pressed a kiss to Arthur’s head before he could think better of it. Arthur went rigid under his lips, but he was already poking at the sausage and didn’t think much on it. “This looks perfect.” He said in delight. “May I?” Arthur didn’t answer right away and so he started scooping things for himself. Soon, Arthur did the same and they carefully made their way towards the sofa. “I haven’t had this in years. Lizzie doesn’t cook and you know how rubbish I am at it.” A muscle in Arthur’s face jumped at that, but he sat quietly and picked at his breakfast. “Hey, do we still have those biscuits here-”

 

“Top shelf.” Arthur told him softly, not bothering to correct the possessive nature of his statement. Eames was already up, running towards the kitchen in excitement.

 

“I am sorry about Father Anthony, Arthur.” Eames called from the kitchen.

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Arthur dismissed easily. “How dos this divorce thing work?” He asked, eating some of his breakfast. “Attorneys or some such?”

 

“Something like. Must appear before a judge, mandatory counseling.” Eames strolled in with a biscuit in his mouth and spoke around his food. “Standard procedures. It’s…just going to take some time.”

 

“I see.” Arthur’s eyes glanced around the house for a moment, and Eames laughed – slapping his shoulder good naturedly.

 

“It’s still yours.” He said with a grin. “I won’t even fight you for what’s left of the china.” Arthur flinched.

 

“That’s a relief.” He muttered, placing his plate on the coffee table.

 

“Thought, I don’t know why you kept it.”

 

“The china?” Arthur asked, purposefully being evasive.

 

“No, silly, the  _house_.” Eames rolled his eyes. “It’s practically falling apart, frankly I’m amazed that it hasn’t fallen apart yet.”

 

“I like it.” Arthur said tightly, shifting on the couch with a rare sign of discomfort.

 

“Yeah, but  _why_? There’s hardly anything positive about it.”

 

“If it bothers you that much then you can leave.” Arthur hissed back, standing up and snatching his plate off the table. Marching towards the kitchen he furiously began doing dishes, angrily scrubbing at the plates until there was nothing left.

 

Eames followed him, glaring at the creaking floor once more. “It doesn’t  _bother_ me. I just-” Arthur glanced at him, and Eames quickly rallied. “You could renovate right? Make it more modern?”

 

“I  _like_  my home, Eames. I  _don’t_ want it to change.”

 

“Right…of course.” Feeling absurdly flat footed, Eames rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Arthur let out a long breath of air and closed his eyes.

 

“You should go.” He suggested tiredly. “Just…contact me when you need to do something.”

“Well, I would darling, but its rather hard to find you when you decide to drop off the map. It took me ages to find you here.”

 

“I’m always here, Eames.” Arthur replied softly. “Whenever I ‘drop off the map’ as you put it, I just come here. And I’ll still  _be_ here when you need me again.” He met Eames’ eyes at that. “Even if it’s probably not in my best interest.”

 

There was something in his tone that made Eames pause. He wasn’t sure how to respond exactly, and he licked his lips unconsciously. Turning to walk away, desperate to avoid wherever this conversation was going, Eames continued.

 

“I’ll just go then…contact you in a bit.” Arthur made a non-committal response and Eames left. He climbed into his car and pulled out of the rocky and poorly maintained driveway.

 

Town was nearly fifteen minutes of dirt roads later, and Eames stopped into a local café he remembered frequenting often when he was living up at the house with Arthur. A delightful old woman, he knew from years before called him over immediately and had him sit at the bar to chat with her. He gave her a great hug and she laughed and called him a devil.

 

“It’s been ages, lad. Where have you been?” She asked him delightfully.

 

“Oh, here and there. Working mostly.” He replied, trying to come up with a better response.

 

“You work too hard! You leave poor Arthur up in that old house by himself for far too long. For shame!”

 

“He’s up there often?” Eames asked, though he suspected as much after Arthur’s morning admission. Still, hearing a local say that she saw him up there meant he was there far more frequently than Eames had originally imagined. She gave him a funny look, but agreed.

 

“Often enough. Seems he stops in every other weekend or so. Don’t you boys keep in touch with one another?”

 

“We’re not really together anymore, Molly.” Eames admitted, in an apologetic tone. She was one of the first people to congratulate them on their nuptials, much to Arthur’s embarrassment. The fact that she wasn’t aware of their separation, that Eames had thought had happened years ago, was bizarre.

 

“Not-not together? But he was here just this last night, didn’t say a thing! Talks about you all the time, what the devil happened lad?”

 

Now truly confused, Eames gaped at her in stunned amazement. He had no idea how to explain anything to her, and would have thought this had been handled years ago. That Arthur had been perpetuating the idea of their marriage was almost infuriating.

 

“There’s someone else.” He said slowly, struggling to come to terms with the information presented before him. “A woman…a beautiful and lovely woman that I’m going to marry.”

 

“Sounds like a tart.” Molly replied candidly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You been married to that boy for six years, and you’re throwing him away for a pretty face?”

 

“She’s not just a pretty face. I love her!”

 

“But you  _married him!”_

“I never loved him.” Eames struggled to explain. Molly glared at him furiously.

 

“Shame on you Thomas Eames. Shame on you.” And with that, she whirled away and Eames felt like the whole town was completely conspiring against him.

* * *

 

Jobs with Arthur after that seemed more strained than usual. Arthur was still the consummate professional that was terrifyingly scary in the dream world, he was still pointing out flaws in every argument and coming up with fantastic ways to save everyone in the nick of time, and he was still just as sleek and lean as ever. But he was  _only_ a professional. There was no personality, no quick jokes, no eye rolls or amusing gestures. And he absolutely did not banter back. Eames would make a joke, and he never responded to it. He just let it wash off him like water on warm rocks.

 

It took Eames ages to get him alone. Arthur vanished like the wind whenever there was a chance they’d be without another person in the room. Like he needed a chaperone. It was infuriating. Finally, though, Eames won out. He caught Arthur just before he took off to hiding, and he cornered him about the situation in Scotland.

 

“Molly thinks we’ve been married this whole while.” He bit out, not sure why he was so furious but needing to vent this particular anger out at long last.

 

“Haven’t we?” Arthur asked, attempting a smile that Eames hadn’t seen in months. Had it been any other time and situation, Eames might have appreciated the effort to tease him, but instead, it only served to anger him more.

 

“ _No!_ ” Eames snapped. “Or at least I didn’t think so.” He gave Arthur a scathing look, and the younger man sighed.

 

“I didn’t either.” Arthur told him shortly. “It never seemed like a good time to correct her. Sorry.”

 

“Did you correct  _anybody_? Or did you just live in some bizarre fantasy world where I was your husband and was actually going to come back for you one day?” Arthur flinched at that, and took a deep breath.

 

“A fantasy is supposed to be positive, isn’t it?” He asked bitterly. “So why should I have waited for  _you_?” He asked sharply.

 

“I don’t know Arthur, but you certainly made no efforts to try to get someone to actually  _like_ you. How many relationships have you even  _had_ since then? Or do you need it to be a con for it to actually exist?” Eames expected the punch, he really did. In fact, he knew he deserved it. He’d wanted to piss Arthur off because so far, he seemed to be the only one not reacting to anyone about this. He wanted Arthur to show at least  _some_ emotion.

 

What he hadn’t expected was the punch that followed the first, or the knee that came after that, nor even the heel palm that shattered his nose. Usually he was on par with the point. They fought enough times for him to be comfortable taking him on. But in that moment, Eames doubted that any amount of skill would have saved him from the beating he thought he deserved.

 

Arthur left the job with Eames’ blood on his hands, and refused to pick up his phone for anyone. Eames wished he could feel good about breaking Arthur’s sense of calm, but all he felt was anger and disgust. Almost all of it was directed inwardly.

 

It took him a month before he rallied himself together and drove back to his old house in Scotland. Standing at the door, he knocked on it twice. Arthur answered with an expression that was near lethal, and Eames tried his best to look contrite. He still needed Arthur to work with him for a little while…at least so they could finalize the divorce.

 

“Can I come in?” He asked softly.

 

“No.” Arthur responded, clenching his fists in anger. “I hacked into the government’s records, Eames. Our marriage was  _officially_ annulled. As far as the government is concerned, four years ago there was no mysterious loss of paperwork. Everything went through right on time. You were drunk when you married me, and didn’t mean it. All paperwork is taken care of. As far as they’re concerned, we’re done. No divorce. No conversations. Just go and marry Lizzie and leave me the hell alone, okay?” And with a sharp flick of his wrist, the door slammed in Eames’ face.

 

Eames barely had time to register what Arthur had said before he was gone. Then it all clicked. Hacked in. Taken care of. No divorce. Just…done. He supposed he felt relieved. Arthur handled it once again. Why go through months of divorce court when hacking worked just fine?

 

He mumbled a contrite thank you to the closed door, and walked away. There was no reason to ever come back to Scotland again.

 

Or so he told himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me on Tumblr: 
> 
> http://falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

_When Arthur was in the army, he was one of the elite dog trainers. He had a war dog with him constantly, and was often sent on missions with other units in order to support them. It was how Arthur and Eames first met. Arthur had been a LT, and Eames had been a Captain._

_After the army, after they’d fallen into a world filled with dreams, after they had had a sham of a marriage, but before their even more ridiculous annulment, Eames had found Arthur staring at a wall when he came home. He’d called to his husband, louder and louder until worry had slipped into his tone and he’d physically touched the younger man. Even then, Arthur had continued staring into space, looking at something that wasn’t there._

_Eames spent nearly four hours with him, waiting for a change, waiting for a response. When Arthur finally did come back to himself, he didn’t seem to realize he’d been gone for that long at all. He stared at Eames in confusion, and even when Eames explained what had happened, Arthur had shrugged it off._

_It hadn’t mattered._

_Except, that it had._

_Eames had always known that Arthur was affected by the war. He had seen it happen. He had seen Arthur’s dog get hit with a concussion blast – killing it. He had seen Arthur carry that dog’s corpse the twenty-hour trek back to base. He had seen it.  And he knew certain things provoked certain reactions._

_Like, how whenever Arthur was nervous his right hand would squeeze around a leash that didn’t exist. Or how the sound of an explosion, even a firework, caused Arthur to flinch badly. How dogs were always a weakness to Arthur, one that he refused to get involved with again because he thought he was too damaged to handle a dog._

_Arthur had only had one dog since he started dream sharing. A lab named Kick. It used to curl up at Arthur’s side while he slept, and whenever something dangerous happened up above – would jerk him off his chair where he was connected to the leash. The sharp jerk was quickly named after the dog. A dog who died not too long into the whole process. A dog that Arthur steadfastly refused to replace._

_But seeing Arthur that day, seeing him alone and lost in his own head, Eames wondered about the appeal of getting a dog. He wondered about a dog that would sit with Arthur, and make sure he was all right when he was lost in his own mind and no one else was around to see it._

_“What do you think about getting a dog?” Eames asked one night over dinner. Arthur hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Something had happened most recently on a job. He wouldn’t talk about it, but Eames knew something bad had happened._

_“No.” Arthur replied immediately. He ran a hand over his face awkwardly. “I don’t want a dog ever again.”_

_“It might do you some good.” Eames suggested lightly._

_“No.” Arthur replied, shaking his head firmly. He left the table without another word, and Eames sighed._

_He worked the problem for months. Every few weeks he brought up the idea, showed him pictures, brought him to dog parks. Arthur hated it, argued with him on it constantly, shouted at him, but in the end, he still looked. He looked, and Eames saw him consider the problem. He saw him hold Kick’s collar and leash when he thought no one was looking. He saw Arthur occasionally glance at the posters that announced dog sales._

_Finally,_ finally,  _Arthur agreed. “We’ll get him together.” Arthur said firmly. “And I’ll train_ you  _on how to manage him.”_

_“It’s a dog, not a grenade, Arthur.” Eames teased, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s hairline. Arthur smiled faintly at that._

_“My rules, Eames. My dog. My rules.”_

_“Understood Lieutenant.” Eames teased._

_They found a breeder together, though it was mostly Arthur’s show. He pointed out every flaw to every person that they met, until they finally settled on an Australian shepherd. The dogs were set to be picked up as soon as they were weaned._

_And then Eames finished the con. He handed Arthur the paperwork, and waved goodbye. Arthur watched him go, and after two weeks with not so much as a phone call, Arthur called up the breeder._

_“Sorry.” He said slowly. “I’m not interested in a puppy any longer at this time. You may keep my deposit.” Then he hung up._

_He never called back._

* * *

 

Arthur never let anything bother him. Or at least, no one would ever know if something bothered him. He made sure that every act was done fluidly and without pause. No one would ever be able to guess that he was hurting, uncertain, or just a bit lost.

 

Ariadne called him for help on a job, and he went because he owed her allegiance. The fact she’d called Eames too had not been entirely planned, but he wasn’t going to march out the door the moment he saw him either. Keeping his head down, he just did the job that was required of him. He even went out with Ariadne for a few nights in a row when things were settling in the office.

 

The budding architect earning a positive reputation in the dream share business, but she hadn’t lost her sense of morality yet. She was still a good person, and she still glowed with each passing day. She bought them all lunch one afternoon, and Arthur sat down across from Eames, and forced himself to behave in an utterly civil matter.

 

Things went better than Arthur could have imagined. Ariadne asked how they first met, and they explained that it had been in the army. “Arthur was a LT on loan from the Americans.” Eames supplied with a bright smile, spelling out the letters of his designation. “He was the best war-dog handler they had, and so whenever we needed assistance, he played point for us.”

 

“Really? You like dogs Arthur?” Ariadne asked with a broad smile.

 

“Like them? He loves them; he could make a dog do anything he wanted to within seconds of meeting one. Bloody brilliant, he is.”

 

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” Arthur tried to explain, struggling to come up with the best way to put it to her. Ariadne was watching him with wide-eyed wonder, and he was desperate to have it all make sense. “Dogs are like people, they speak their own language. If you understand what they’re saying, then you can explain what you want and they’ll get it.”

 

“It still sounds hard.”

 

“It is…” Arthur agreed.

 

“How many have you trained?”

 

“A few.” Arthur shrugged. “I started when I was a kid…I used to work for a local animal shelter, and I started learning how to train seeing-eye dogs. When I joined the army it was a natural progression to bomb-sniffing dogs and attack-dogs.”

 

“What’s your favorite breed?”

 

“I don’t have one.” He replied easily, feeling comfortable at long last. Eames kept smiling at him, as though he knew how relaxing this conversation was. “Dogs are partners for life, and whatever breed I work with will become my partner. It doesn’t matter what breed it is, so long as I understand its language, I’ll know how I can best work with it.”

 

“You don’t have one now though, do you?”

 

“No…I don’t have a life that’s well suited for a dog.” Arthur shook his head.

 

“What about that aussie you were going to get all those years ago?” Eames asked curiously.

 

“Like I said.” Arthur grit out, good mood evaporating immediately. “I don’t have a life that’s well suited for a dog.” Eames frowned, brows furrowing for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ariadne was already talking.

 

“Speaking of partners for life…” Ariadne slanted a look towards Eames and Arthur’s stomach clenched immediately. “How’re things going with you and Lizzie? Have you popped the question yet?”

 

“Yes!” Eames beamed at her, appropriately distracted. “We’ve got a ceremony set for August.”

 

“I hope I’m invited.” Ariadne said, grinning at him.

 

“Of course.” He replied, batting his lashes flirtatiously. “And you as well Arthur.” He said, turning to look at the point.

 

“I’m busy in August.” He replied.

 

“Doing what?” Eames asked, a touch of irritation in his tone.

 

Arthur was tempted to tell him the truth. He was tempted to tell him that he would rather stare at the walls of his dilapidated house than be anywhere near Eames and his nuptials. He’d rather perform inception again than watch him with his bride. He’d rather march back into Iraq and take on Al Qaeda and the Taliban one last time.

 

Instead, he lied. He lied, and told Eames about a job in Prague that he was running. Lies came easily to Arthur, and this one slipped off his tongue with all the informed sincerity of a con artist. Ariadne believed it immediately, and wished him well. Eames still looked truly hurt by the idea that he wasn’t going to be there.

 

“And here I was going to ask you to be my best-man.” Eames admitted with a slightly pained look. “You’re not really going to make me ask Cobb now, are you?” It was a lame joke. If anyone, he’d ask Yusuf, but Arthur grit his teeth at the question. Playing on Arthur’s sense of morality was a surefire way to manipulate him to do anything, and Eames knew it.

 

“When in August?” He asked tightly, fingers clenching around the wrapped paper of his lunch. Eames beamed at him and gave him a date. Arthur almost wanted to kill him for it.

 

* * *

 

Ariadne’s job went off without a hitch, and they all went their separate ways. Eames joked about Arthur contacting him soon so they could work out the bachelor party, and Arthur told him he’d work something out as soon as he was able.

 

 He went home to Scotland, throwing his bags in the corner of his house that looked more worn down than ever before. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything, or make anything, instead he just wandered to his bedroom and flipped through the stack of mail that had piled up waiting for him. All of the checks he’d given to the orphanage had been returned. It seemed the new Father didn’t deem homosexuality and military participation in high esteem. He refused to have his “sinful money” aid in the children’s welfare. The hypocrisy was suffocating. Tearing up the letters, Arthur threw himself on his bed and wondered when things were just going to start getting okay again.

 

To be perfectly clear, Arthur did not spend every waking moment thinking about Eames, their divorce, or his status as Eames’ best man. In fact, he occupied himself with endless endeavors that kept him pleasantly distracted most of the time. He threw himself into work, and then he threw himself into his house. It had been his habit for far too long. He would work tirelessly on his house fixing floorboards and rewiring walls. Eames was wrong when he had said that Arthur didn’t do anything with the house. He did work on the house. He tried to make just that much better every day. Renovating wasn’t the same as fixing, and Arthur wasn’t renovating…he was fixing. Or trying to fix. It seemed that everything was going wrong lately.

 

He no sooner fixed one thing, when another would start acting up. Then he’d be called on a job – and everything was postponed. Arthur was getting sick of it, really. Scotland was supposed to be a place where he could relax, except he couldn’t find any relaxation there. He couldn’t find any peace and quiet. It was getting old.

 

Still, it seemed Eames’ happy news was making its way through the Dreamsharing world. Every job was discussing Lizzie and what she must be like in order to get someone like Eames to settle down at long last. Arthur had a furious side to him that longed to just say  _I had him settle down_.  _He settled down for me_. But the more self-loathing part of his subconscious immediately told him:  _for a con, for a lie, it was meaningless, worthless, didn’t matter_. So he kept his mouth shut, because there was nothing honorable about telling someone that he’d been divorced in two years. Annulled. Whatever.

 

He wished he could work out a reason that any of it mattered in the first place. But knew that there was really nothing he could do or say to make anything better. Eames had made his decision, and now…Arthur had to make his. He just wished he hadn’t been backed in a corner. He wished that Eames wasn’t that sore spot that made things so much worse as time went by. He wished that he just didn’t give a damn anymore, and that he’d stop feeling so pathetic.

 

Sighing, Arthur made his way kitchen. One of the floorboards was broken again. He’d need to fix it before too long. But really…he just didn’t have the energy anymore. He was too exhausted to give a damn. Maybe he’d worry about it next time. It’s not like the house was ever going to mean what it once did.

 

* * *

 

_When Eames finished his first job in two years as an unmarried man, he found himself in the airport staring at a ticket to Scotland wondering what he was doing with his life. He’d purchased the ticket without thinking about it, and now that he had it, he had no idea what to do with it. Scotland was over. Time to move on._

_He played with the idea of going back, seeing if Arthur was still there. It was doubtful, but Eames liked to imagine that he was. Then again, if he’d been planning on staying at the house, he shouldn’t have signed their annulment papers. He should have fought a bit for their relationship._

_A small traitorous part of Eames’ mind told him that Arthur was always shit at talking about anything remotely related to feelings or what he was thinking of, but that just didn’t cut it. Not after two years. It should have meant something. It should have been worthwhile. Clearly, Arthur just wanted friendship. Just wanted someone to talk to. Eames could be that person. But he needed more in his life than just that. He needed someone to cherish, and for someone to cherish him in turn. He needed a partner. He couldn’t wait for someone who could never manage to decide one way or another. He needed it to matter. That wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?_

  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“We should look into getting a house.” Lizzie told Eames as he hugged her to his side and kissed the top of her head affectionately.

 

“Why?” He asked, frowning at her.

 

“Because we’re getting married? It’ll be nice to have a home to settle in to? Money’s no issue.”

 

“Well...yeah, but a house? We’re never in the same place at the same time, and we’re always meeting up in different cities. A house seems not very worth it.” She scowled at him in annoyance.

 

“Well, now we could meet there, instead of in hotels. If we’re not planning on settling down, and having kids – why get married?” That threw Eames for a loop he wasn’t prepared for. Kids? He never agreed to that. He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly all he could think of was Scotland.

 

Even when everything had gone to shit at work, about the warmth and security of that house had a feeling of permanence. It had been nice. Even though he hated the house now, could only see the imperfections that needed to be fixed – he had liked it back then. He had liked it enough to buy for Arthur anyway… The more he thought about it, he had to admit that Arthur may have been on to something with staying behind for so long. A home was more than most people ever received.

 

His wedding day was only a few weeks away, and now that he thought about it – Arthur still hadn’t contacted him about that party he was supposed to throw. Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, his phone started ringing.  _Arthur_.

 

It was funny, looking back, how fast he answered that call.

 

“Hey, long time no talk-”

 

“Thomas?” Molly’s voice rang across the line, and Eames had to double-check the number to make sure it was Arthur’s cell. It was.

 

“Molly? Why are you on Arthur’s phone?” Trepidation was starting build in his stomach, and she could hear her hesitance through the line.

 

“I know you said that you were no longer together, but I didn’t know who else to call. Perhaps you do?”

 

“Molly? What’s going on?” Lizzie was giving him a strange look, but Eames didn’t care. He sat up straighter, started to slip away, pull on some clothes. Something wasn’t right. He felt anxiety coiling about his heart and his nerves started to get the best of him.

 

“There was a fire, Arthur’s in the hospital-”

 

“Which hospital?” Eames snapped out, snatching a pair of boots from under the bed and thrusting them on his feet. Molly hesitated. “Molly.  _Which_ hospital.” She told him quickly, and Eames checked his watch. “I’m in France, it’s going to take me a few hours to get up there. Is he awake?”

 

“No-”

 

“Can you sit with him in case he wakes up?”

 

“Yes, Thomas,” Her voice grew somber. “The house is gone.”

 

“I don’t give a damn about the house.” Eames told her shortly. “Is Arthur okay?”

 

“We don’t know.” She murmured softly.

 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Clicking the phone closed, he shoved it in his pocket and quickly turned to grab the rest of his things. Lizzie was looking at him in utter confusion.

 

“Who was that?” She asked, standing to help him pack.

 

“A friend of a friend. He’s in the hospital. I have to go.”

 

“You said his name was Arthur…your best man?” She asked curiously.

 

“I have to go.” He kissed her cheek, and then walked out the door. He didn’t trust himself to explain any more than that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me on Tumblr: 
> 
> http://falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

He flew to Scotland as fast as he could, but it wasn’t fast enough to do anything worthwhile. Running into the hospital, he caught sight of Molly in the waiting room. She gave him a bone crushing hug, before explaining what she hadn’t five hours earlier. 

 

Arthur had been making something to eat, when he’d tripped on a broken floorboard and cracked his head on the banister. He’d knocked himself out, and while he was unconscious the oven caught fire. Not too long after that, the whole house had become an inferno.

 

The locals had seen the blaze in time and the firefighters arrived to douse the fire. Arthur had just managed to wake up prior to being burned alive, and had ragged himself out of the house and into the yard. They found him struggling to breathe in the front yard, and took him to the hospital. He was going to be fine. A few shallow burns that wouldn’t do any true damage in the long run, and some smoke inhalation. They want to keep him over night for the head injury, but he was going to be fine.

 

Thanking her again, Eames hurried into the hospital room. Arthur was drugged out of his mind for the most part. He only occasionally twitched and murmured in his sleep. There was a bandage wrapped around his head and chest, and a breathing mask was placed on his face to help with the smoke inhalation. He looked like hell. Some of his hair was singed, but it looked like his face had been untouched. Eames collapsed into the chair beside the best, and felt his heart finally stop pounding away behind his ribs.

 

When Arthur woke up, he was delirious from pain medication and sedatives. He almost certainly had no idea what was going on around him, but Eames assured him of reality, told him to relax and go back to sleep, and stayed with him while he slowly calmed into a state of relaxation.

 

“Eames?” Arthur asked him during one of his barely conscious spells.

 

“Yes, darling?” He replied, knowing that Arthur was never going to remember any of his in the morning.

 

“When are you coming home?” The question was slurred and awkward. It was a product of drugs and delirium, and it shouldn’t have meant anything, but damn it- if Arthur hadn’t finally expressed an emotion that was needed. Eames stared at Arthur, and wished his friend had asked him that question four years ago when he’d needed to hear it. He wished Arthur hadn’t been high on drugs and could actually formulate an honest opinion about everything. He wished now was the right time.

 

“I’m not.” He finally replied. Arthur didn’t answer. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply again. He was asleep, and Eames was grateful for the reprieve. He ran a hand over his face, and stood up to get something to drink. He needed to think. He desperately needed to think.

 

 

The hospital gave Eames Arthur’s personal affects, and with them was a set of house keys for a house that he’d never go to again. It would have been meaningless, except for the key ring. The ring that held all the keys together was an eerily familiar platinum band that had Eames’ heart pounding in his ears once more.

 

He called up Lizzie immediately, and she didn’t understand when he told her that he needed some time in Scotland with Arthur. She asked about the wedding and if everything was going to be ready in time, but Eames just stood frozen in the hallways of that hospital and couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d left Arthur in the first place. He couldn’t remember why he hadn’t always gone back for Arthur. Why he’d needed to hear Arthur’s acceptance of their marriage when Arthur had never said anything one way or another.

 

But why keep the ring? Why use it for the keys? What the hell was Arthur trying to get at? He needed to know, and only time would tell.

 

He told Lizzie he wasn’t sure about the wedding, and hung up the phone. Then he went back inside, and sat with Arthur until he opened his brown eyes and was finally coherent. Arthur didn’t seem to know what to say when he finally realized that Eames was in front of him, but he didn’t put up too much of a fight when Eames commandeered everything about his care.

 

He was quickly given the aid he needed, and then was released under the condition that someone watched his head injury closely. Eames promised he would do it. Arthur didn’t complain. He stared openly at Eames like he was some mythical creature he didn’t understand, but Eames just led him forwards and they moved on together.

 

It only took three hours before Arthur finally asked Eames what he wanted, why he was still around. “Why did you marry me?” Eames asked, jumping straight to the chase.

 

“What does it matter now?” Arthur asked in return.

 

“Because I need to know.”

 

“Selfish.” Arthur muttered hatefully.

 

“Yes.” Eames agreed. “Why did you marry me for real?”

 

“Why did you marry me for real? Why did you go through all the paperwork, put our real names down? Had it all legitimate? When we could have forged the whole thing? When it could have all been fake? Why make it real?”

 

Eames faltered. He opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, and he felt foolish and hateful. “Why didn’t you say something!? Why didn’t you tell me no when I asked for an annulment?” Eames shouted, throwing his arms in the air.

 

“Why did you ask in the first place?” Arthur fired back, just as heatedly. “If it meant that much to you, why would you ask? For God’s sake Eames, I’m not going to drag something on if you feel you need it to only be a con. You told me it was a con from the beginning, and then you wanted to leave, what the hell was I supposed to do? Tell you I loved you, make a fool out of myself and have you laugh as you walk away? What would that have solved?”

 

Eames wondered, then, who truly was at fault. He looked at Arthur with heartbreak in his eyes, and could have cursed them for their stupidity. Instead, he drove them to their home, and he looked at the last vestiges of their ridiculous marriage – broken and turned to ash.

 

The house was destroyed. Nothing was left. Eames’ hand ducked into his pocket and he felt Arthur’s key ring…his wedding band…that he still hadn’t returned. Arthur hadn’t asked for it back, either from embarrassment or lack of awareness that it had even survived the fire to begin with.

 

The point stepped out of the car, and moved to stand at the edge of the destruction, staring at it for a long while. Slowly, Eames stepped out to join him. “You don’t want to go to the wedding, do you?”

 

“No.” Arthur admitted softly. Eames nodded.

 

“I shouldn’t have asked.” He sighed and pressed his fingers into his eyes. “It was cruel.”

 

“Yes.” Then, more tentatively, he added: “You know…Lizzie never struck me as the marrying kind.”

 

“Oh, so you’re the only one who would agree to marry me?” Eames hissed out, and Arthur sighed in exhaustion.

 

“That’s not what I said.” He breathed quietly, tilting his head to look at the forger through slanted eyes. “From what you explained about her…she didn’t seem like someone who really wanted to settle down ever.”

 

“Same could be said for you, but you married me.” Neither did the disservice of bringing up the fact that it was a con. Neither would give the other that disrespect considering the morning that they had.

 

“I am the marrying kind.” Arthur said with a forced smile. “I always wanted someone to go home to. It’s…logical for me.” Then, sighing, he said: “I don’t think I’ll ever find the right person, though.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I’m not exactly the easiest one to get on with.” Closing his eyes he stuffed his hands in his pocket, breathing in the smell of burned wood and broken dreams. “Why are you here, Eames?”

 

“I’m trying to understand why we really got married.” Eames told him. “And why we really got divorced. And…I can’t find the answer to either.”

 

“Good luck.” Arthur told him, before turning around and walking across the yard to his car that had been untouched by the blaze. Eames saw him pull a set of keys from his pocket, and he frowned at that. Reaching into his own pocket for Arthur’s key-ring, he was startled to find just the wedding band. The keys were off it, and Eames was torn between laughing that Arthur had finally pickpockted him successfully twice, once to take the keys and once to drop off the ring, or heartbroken with the realization of why he left it behind.

 

A guilty part of his mind asked him why he should feel heart broken. He was still marrying Lizzie…wasn’t he?

 

 

Eames went left Scotland to check in with Lizzie. She was making last minute arrangements and Eames knew that he needed to finalize a few things before the end. She looked up at him and smiled, and he told himself that everything with Arthur was in the past. Perhaps things could have been different if they’d talked about things before, but he loved Lizzie now. He was going to get married to her. Things were going to be okay, and Arthur…he was just the path not travelled.

 

“How is your friend?” She asked him, and Eames shrugged.

 

“His house burnt to the ground, but he made it out with a gash on his head and a few small burns. He’ll be fine.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that he was hurt.” She told him sincerely, and he grinned.

 

“Thanks, love.”

 

“Is he still going to make it to the wedding?”

 

“No, I don’t think so.”

 

“That’s too bad.” She told him before moving to get her own work taken care of. Eames looked around their apartment for a while, and stared at the walls. He couldn’t bring himself to feel anything about this place. No emotional connection. No attachment.

 

He needed to go on a job.

 

Quickly securing placement someplace not too far away, he’d have enough time to finish it up and making it back for the ceremony, Eames rushed back into the field. He was hardly amused by the idea of sitting around and twiddling his thumbs, and he wanted to burn some energy off now.

 

Of course, whenever using the PASIV, the subconscious brought all the problems to light. In one test run to make sure he had his forge settled, he found himself standing in a moor where a great white line divided the world to the left and right. On one side of the line was Arthur’s house in Scotland – perfectly put together and sitting in all its glorious beauty. It looked new and shiny, so different from the first time he saw it. On the other side stood another house, sleek and smooth and modern. Perfectly balanced on each side, architecturally perfect.

 

Arthur was standing on one side of the line, looking out towards hi House. Lizzie was standing on the other. Their backs were nearly touching, but they made no notice that they saw each other. Instead, at the same time, they walked towards their houses. Eames watched them both go, and as he let his eyes linger on one, he could feel the earth crumble around the other.

 

The ground started to dip and cave in, but neither projection seemed to realize what was happening. Instead, they just kept moving closer to their houses. Faster and faster the ground started to crumble, until Eames realized he needed to make a choice. He looked towards Arthur, who seemed to have no trouble at all walking to his house, who was poise and balance and control all in one. He turned to Lizzie, who tripped and stumbled as she went to the front door of a house they’d never owned.

 

Without thinking twice, he went to her. He helped her reach the door, and as he crossed the line to be with her, he looked back to Arthur to see that he’d stopped moving. He hadn’t reached his own door. Instead, he stood still as the ground caved in around him. Eames shouted, yelling for him to move as the ground threatened to vanish beneath his feet.

 

Arthur took one step forwards, and the ground beneath his feet became a familiar floor that was never even. It gave under his step and he fell forwards – crashing his head against a banister that appeared out of thin air. He was unconscious, lying in a heap like a discarded doll.

 

“Arthur!” Eames shouted, taking a step towards him, but Lizzie grabbed his arm.

 

“Don’t leave me.” She begged. “I don’t want to be left alone.”

 

“But you’re all right by yourself…and he’s not.” He said slowly, before pulling away and running across the expanse. Earth appeared under his feet by force of will alone. But when he grabbed Arthur and pulled him into his arms, getting ready to run to the house for safety – his house burst into flames. Smoke and fire billowed around them, and the next thing Eames knew: he was awake.

 

He sat up right sharply, and rested a hand on his rapidly beating heart. Taking a deep breath, he tried to shake the image out of his mind. He couldn’t quite manage it. It was haunting in its reasoning.

 

He cursed loudly and ran a hand across his face.

 

Then, he stood up, picked up his phone, and called Lizzie. They needed to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me on Tumblr: 
> 
> http://falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

He found Arthur in Molly’s house. Apparently she hadn’t let him take a hotel, and had insisted that he stay with her. He looked strange, wearing a plaid flannel shirt and some loose sweatpants. His hair was long again, and it hung into his eyes. The gash on his forehead was healing well, and Eames was pleased to see that the scar wouldn’t be too bad.

 

Arthur frowned at him when he walked through the door, Molly escorting him in with a look of pure triumph on her features. “Guest for you, lad.” She said happily before leaving them alone. Eames stood before him for a long while, noting the changes and trying to decide where to begin. There was something he needed to know though. So he asked his final questions.

 

“Why did you sign them?” He asked quietly, reaching out to touch Arthur’s hair. The point leaned into the touch. He always had. This was familiar, something they both were used to. Eames constantly gave out affection, and Arthur constantly pulled it in. He soaked it up like a sponge. It was addicting to give sometimes. Eames loved it about him.

 

“Because you had.” Arthur told him, voice leaking with honesty.

 

“If I never brought them home, would you have reminded me to?” He clarified one final time.

 

“No.” Arthur replied, closing his eyes and allowing Eames’ hand to continue playing with his hair. “No, I would have never brought it up again.”

 

Sometimes, Eames decided, the truth hurt.

 

 

Two weeks after the bulldozer had cleaned the wreckage of their home and all that was left of that house was a foundation of solid bedrock, Eames asked Arthur if they could rebuild it.

 

“Same as before, no changes. Not even an updated stove. Creaky floor and all.” Eames proposed lightly, fetching a jacket to drape around Arthur’s shoulders when he shivered against the cold.

 

“You hated that house.” Arthur pointed out, brows furrowing in confusion.

 

“No…not really.” Eames admitted, finding that it was true.

 

“We could do something newer…” Arthur suggested tentatively. “Something more modern…”

 

“No…exactly the same.” Eames argued.

 

“The old one burned down.”

 

“This one won’t.” Promises, promises.

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because I’ll be there to turn the oven off when you can’t.” Eames told him firmly. “I’ll make sure you’re not over doing when you’re too tired to function, and we’ll work out the kinks to make sure it stays standing.”

 

“What about Lizzie?” Arthur asked him carefully.

 

“I ended our engagement…it didn’t feel right. And frankly…she said she was happy about it too. She said she wasn’t really the marrying kind anyway, and that it was for the best. She’s living with her new boyfriend right now in Sicily.” Perhaps that burned the most. The fact that he had thought he was breaking her heart, and she told him that she hadn’t really wanted to do it in the first place. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did…but it did hurt somewhere deep in side.

 

“I’m not a rebound.” Arthur said firmly, clenching his fists.

 

“I know.” Eames promised. “Which is why I’m not proposing again. Let’s do it right this time. Let’s build our house together…and make sure it doesn’t ever burn down again.”

 

Arthur didn’t reply…but he didn’t say no either.

 

 

There are a few jobs Arthur never talks about. Inception is one of them. And the first time he married Eames is another. Eames says its because its too maudlin, Arthur says its because its too private.

 

Arthur liked to look back and analyze his mistakes so he never repeated them again. And that job…hadn’t had mistakes. It only had one. Now, when they fought, Arthur told Eames the truth. He told him exactly what he meant. When Eames said something, Arthur never held back. Honesty, and clarity. They were working on that.

 

It meant that they fought harder, but loved deeper. Eames never proposed again, but their annulment did vanish off the government’s records as though it never existed.

 

Arthur still had his house keys on a ring that looked like a platinum wedding band, and Eames still complained that their house was old fashioned. But they made it work.

 

They didn’t build it exactly the same – there were plenty of changes, but it felt right when they walked in the door. It felt like home. No more miscommunications, no more let downs. Eames smiled whenever he saw the house, realizing what a mistake Lizzie would have been.

 

She was lovely, but she wasn’t home. Not how he needed it to be. And as he stepped through the front door and saw Arthur curled on the sofa with their new puppy sleeping on the floor by his hands. Eames smiled, and moved closer.

 

“Till death do us part?” He asked Arthur casually, pressing a kiss to his hairline and running a hand through their dog's fur. Arthur snorted.

 

“At least until the next fire.”

 

“Ah,” Eames said, “But fire doesn’t burn us down and lay us to waste. It just makes us grow bigger and stronger than before.” Unlike Arthur, he had no problem talking about the hardest jobs of them all. He told everyone the truth. The hardest job in the world was to be married, and to stay that way for life. He made a mistake once. He wasn’t ever going to do it again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Find me on tumblr: 
> 
> http://falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Find me on Tumblr: 
> 
> http://falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


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